There are two things birthday parties are good for. First, they give us an excuse to come together and celebrate our arrival and continued existence in this world. Second, they do a fantastic job of making us realize how quickly we are becoming old and dead.

And now that I have kids, not only do I get to remember these two things on my own birthday — I get to remember them on theirs.

Oh, how very old and near to death it makes me feel to confess to you that Greg has finally turned 6!

I suppose this age in particular is harder than the ones in the past. When he was 4 or 5 — I couldn’t relate to those ages exactly. They existed within my own memory as a blur. But six. I remember turning 6. I remember it very clearly.

I remember how big I felt.

The first thing Greg said when I picked him up for a hug on his birthday was, “Can you pick me up still? I bet I’m too heavy.”

He said this with excitement, like he couldn’t wait to be so big that I couldn’t pick him up.

He feels big at six. Just like I did.

But now, at 28, I feel very, very small. My son is 6 years old and counting. He’s excited for the day that I can no longer scoop him off his feet and spin him around. He’s excited that one day he may become taller than I am.

Worse, one day — all these things will come to pass. I’ll wake up one day and he will be big.

That’s just the way of it. That’s life, as they say.

Anyway. That isn’t what I actually sat down to tell you. I meant to tell you about his birthday party. We held it at Hog Wild in Russellville. Which, if you’ve never been, you’re missing out.

When we walked in the door, he looked at the prize table and pointed at a plush Superman doll. You had to win 1,000 tickets to earn it. I quietly began plotting a way for me to earn such a large sum of tickets on a relatively small amount of money. I wondered if they would let you outright buy the item from them. They won’t.

If only Greg understood the wonder that is the internet and the infinite number of plush Supermen that exist therein. One could have an army of Supermen (Supermans?) at their disposal — and you wouldn’t need to earn this alternative currency. Tickets. Pshaw.

But it would do no good explaining this to him. He wanted that Superman. And he was willing to earn however many tickets they asked for.

He got a Wii for his birthday. And a few games. When he opened the Wii he said, “A Wii?”

When he opened the foam sword one of his friends bought for him he exclaimed, “I’ve been wanting this for my whole life!”

Well!

The second half of the party was spent in the game room. Thirty minutes later and we were running out of money. We had a dollar or two left and about thirty tickets. I don’t know how good at “maths” you are — but let me put this out there for you: that is a lot less than 1,000.

Then I heard the bells.

We made our way to the sound to see Greg’s uncle hovering over a machine. The flashing lights said JACKPOT and the number of tickets pouring out of the thing was obscene.

8,000.

That is a lot more than 1,000. His uncle was kind enough to give him half. Greg walked out of Hog Wild with his Superman plush after all.

Well, that and about two million Silly bands.

T.L. Simpson is a local author and father to Gregory Clay Simpson, 6, and Kaylee Diane Simpson, 4. Look for “Misadventures in Fatherhood” on Facebook.